Tarnished
by gethsemane342
Summary: To many, he is a monster. To others, he is a brilliant leader. To President Snow, it is nothing so simple. Response to the Character Change challenge.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_ in any way whatsoever.

**A/n:** Written for SugahRush's _Character Change Challenge_: take a character from THG and write them in a different light.

Tarnished

Breathe deeply, I tell myself. It's just another day of meetings.

"Sir," the man by the door says. "It's time, sir."

"Yes, thank you," I say absently and walk through the door, ignoring his salute. I face my ministers and their accusing looks. My fingers clench around a ring in my pocket. A gift from my mother when I began my job in the government, many years ago. Even now, I cannot make a speech without having that ring in my pocket. It gives me confidence. A silly thing for an old man, I suppose.

I gesture for the men and women to sit down and ask them to report on the situation thus far. They do so with varying tones. Some are perfectly normal but many – especially the Minister of Health and the Chief of Peacekeepers – are making no attempts to spare my feelings with their voices nor their eyes.

The picture they paint is a bleak one. Districts 3, 4, 6, 7, 8 and 11 are in full-scale rebellion and Districts 1, 5 and 9 are beginning to rebel as well. Many people escaped from District 12; importantly, those significant to the morale of Katniss Everdeen. My head Gamemaker has disappeared after kidnapping Katniss Everdeen, Beetee Fonlin and Finnick Odair. Sources suggest his entourage are making their way to District 13. Capitol citizens are becoming restless and many are questioning the lack of supplies. Peacekeepers are dying everywhere, as are district citizens. The only feather in my cap is that _we_ have Peeta Mellark and Johanna Mason. And Enobaria from District 2 though I doubt she had anything to do with this rebellion to begin with.

"We need to remedy this," I say as calmly as I can manage. If I am calm, they will be calm. Besides, calm is intimidating. "Conquer one district at a time."

"With respect, sir, we have already destroyed District 12."

I look at Alex Morak. "I do not mean crush them, Mr Morak," I say firmly. "I mean subdue. Get the district back under Capitol control and use forces from there to move onto the next district. Like a boulder, rolling downhill."

"May I speak, sir?" asks Yebba. I nod. "That would cause a huge loss of life, sir. Our Peacekeepers could easily be crushed and even if we win, it will be a loss of life in the districts and for us."

I close my eyes and rub my forehead. Then I stop. I cannot look weak. Not now.

"I am aware of this," I say slowly. "But what would the alternative be? To let all of our citizens die? If the districts win this, they will not stop with us, Yebba. They will turn against each other. If District 13 heads the rebellion, they will become the new leaders. Ultimately, our rule is for the best. If we win, we stop the needless taking of life. If they win, they will be in the same way they were before – but with lives lost. And this will repeat. Lives must be lost Yebba – but it will not be needless."

He looks at me sceptically. But Maevia, the Minister of Science, nods approvingly. "We cannot give up, Yebba."

He turns red. "I wasn't suggesting ... I just..." He sits down. I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I'm getting too old for this job. I should retire somewhere and leave the country to ... to...

That's the problem. I can't think of anyone I could entrust this job to. Especially not right now.

The meeting continues. Alex and Yebba constantly try to undermine what I say but my mind is still sharp and we conclude with what we hope is an effective plan. I leave the room last, still clutching my mother's ring. It's turned dull now, with age. The technology here could make it shine in an instant but, somehow, I cannot bring myself to subject it to such treatment. Maybe I see it as I see myself: old and fading. In my philosophical moments – few and far between – I like to imagine that I will only die when this ring has become so dull as to be black. It doesn't seem to be far off.

I walk towards my office to read through the notes for my next meeting. People stop me on the way to ask me questions which I try to answer as well as I can: it takes me an hour to get back. As soon as I am alone, I sink into my seat and put my head in my hands.

I just don't understand how it came to this. Where have I gone wrong? All my life, I have worked tirelessly for Panem. I have kept the districts oppressed as I learnt was needed from a young age. Without our hand, they would have died. They would have fought against us and been unable to fend for themselves. I have simply been continuing the Capitol's role as a firm but fair father. Whenever I have heard of possible rebellion, I have shown that it will not be tolerated. Cruel, some may say, but necessary. I have kept this country alive for over twenty-five years. And still they rebel.

But I must not give up yet. We need consistent leadership: someone to direct everyone. I cannot find a replacement now. That would be to show weakness and invite District 13 to take over. To cause all the deaths I commented on in the meeting. I may have done what others call "terrible things" in my life but I will never rest easily if I allow these pointless deaths. For in my many years as President, the one thing I am sure of is human nature. These rebels will never maintain the peace they want. They will fight amongst themselves. It would mean the end of Panem. I _refuse_ to let that happen.

A noise jolts my attention and I realise I still need to read these notes. I begin my task, trying to focus on the matters at hand. It is not long before the familiar knock on my door and yet another person trying to shepherd me to a new meeting where I will face problems no one else dare solve and people who feel I am solving them incorrectly.

As I walk, I find myself thinking that this is the end of my career, if not my life. If we win, I will have to leave office for allowing this rebellion. If we lose, those rebels will show me the same mercy they will show each other one day: none at all. I will undoubtedly be tortured and killed in a humiliating fashion with my body then left for people to sneer at.

I should be terrified by this prospect but, somehow, I feel nothing at all.

Even if I live, even if those rebels take me alive, it will not matter. For I have failed Panem and that is a burden which is very hard to bear. Too hard.

When they find me, they will check my breathing, my sight, my voice. They will check the beating of my heart. They will come to an erroneous conclusion.

I doubt that any of these people who come to punish me will see a ring so dull as to be black, placed upon my finger.


End file.
